It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Inner alarm is louder every day; big changes must come to my life
There’s hatred, evil and injustice, but this is the ‘real’ America, too
I just found out an ex got married – and I’m shocked to feel jealous
What kind of person are you if there’s not a word to define you?
Whether it makes sense or not, I’ve learned to expect miracles
Join me Tuesday for some live radio — if you can stomach an hour of me
As I faced my father’s narcissism, I had to confront who I’d become
Loving father’s pride in daughter easily bridges our language gap
Briefly: Expect the unexpected as my site migrates to new servers this week